


Respiratory, Perfusion, Mental Status

by keerawa



Series: The NYC Bombing Campaign of 2015 [1]
Category: Elementary
Genre: Bombing, Gen, Medical Professionals, Snippets, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson was trained for this eventuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respiratory, Perfusion, Mental Status

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/profile)[watsons_woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) JWP Prompt 2015 #2: Yellow. Unbeta'd.

"If any of you are well enough to stand up and walk out of here, please move towards the fire truck on the corner," Watson announced in a loud, calm voice.

Sherlock obediently tried to stand up, but he couldn't seem to move. He tried to get a look, but the vicious headache when he attempted to open his eyes deterred him quite effectively.

Where – the car bombing case, of course. Apparently the perpetrator had set a second, significantly larger bomb to go off just under an hour later, catching the scene investigators and secondary responders.

There was a sound of movement nearby.

"Jesus," Bell muttered.

"Press down there, hard," Watson instructed. "No, harder. As soon as you see an EMT, you tell them she's red. You understand, Marcus? Red."

"Got it," Marcus confirmed.

Another scuffle of movement, and a quick catch of breath. "Sherlock," Watson hissed.

Sherlock felt a brief touch at his wrist before her fingers curled around his.

"I need you to squeeze my hand, Sherlock. Can you do that for me?" Her voice cracked on the last word.

He tried.

"Thank God," she said, the relief in her voice making it a prayer. "Alright, you're yellow. You might need to wait a while before we get you out of here, there's … a lot of casualties."

There was a whiff of alcohols, 1-propanol and 1-butanol, an uneven pressure across his forehead as Watson scrawled something on his forehead with a marker pen, and then she was gone.


End file.
